


Last Christmas

by thatdamneddame



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Office, Christmas, Getting Back Together, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9008344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdamneddame/pseuds/thatdamneddame
Summary: Last year, Stiles spent Christmas Eve with Derek and his family at their family lodge in the mountains. This year he’s back with what he knows: drinking eggnog with his dad. It would be going a lot better for him if Derek stopped trying to apologize.





	

“Oh no,” Stiles decides firmly. “This is not okay.”

“Oof,” says Danny. “Jesus, Stiles, move it.” He shoves Stiles into the room because he’s heartless. Stiles tells this to Danny’s retreating back, but Danny doesn’t hear him over the holly jolly strains of Burl Ives.

Across the room, standing next to the tree and wearing a wine purple sweater that fits obscenely well, is Derek. He’s wearing his glasses and laughing with Erica because clearly he’s just trying to rub it in. Stiles makes a break for the open bar before Erica can wave him over—no need to make things awkward for everyone.

***

The office Christmas party has not, historically, always been great for Stiles. Like the year he invited Lydia in a last ditch effort to woo her by proving he had a real person job—she’d met Jackson and moved in with him eighteen months later. It probably worked out in Stiles’s favor, though, because now Lydia comes every year and is already drinking at the bar when Stiles arrives. Jackson is nowhere to be found, which probably means he’s out on the balcony smoking cigars and douching it up with the rest of the bros in marketing.

“I’m surprised you’re not with the other trophy wives showing off,” Stiles says, slumping down in the chair next to her.

Lydia snorts. “If anyone’s the trophy wife, it’s Jackson.” The diamond on her left hand glitters, large and expensive, hard to miss. “Is there any reason Derek’s walking over here?”

“Because he’s an asshole,” Stiles tells her, heartfelt, willing himself not to look. He grabs for Lydia’s champagne instead and gulps it down. “Dance with me so he can’t do anything stupid like apologize.” The only thing that Derek hates more than the full spectrum of human emotion is having to express that emotion through dance.

Lydia smiles, bright and vicious. “It would be my pleasure.”

***

They dance to the Beach Boy’s “Little Saint Nick” and The Drifters “White Christmas” and Stiles drinks eggnog and forgets that Derek is a liferuiner. That is, until Jackson appears in a cloud of Armani cologne and whisks Lydia away to gloat in all their newly engaged glory to all the people they hate.

Erica corners him as he comes out of the bathroom. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to be drinking this much at an office function.” She’s wearing soft green felt antlers and a red bandage dress and Stiles is still terrified of her breasts, like he always has been.

“I am drinking,” he tells her with as much dignity as he can muster, “to cope with a largely work-related issue.”

Derek fucking watched him like a hawk the entire time he danced with Lydia, like suddenly Stiles’s ancient crush would rear its ugly head and Lydia would get over her pride and engagement and thousand other objections to Stiles. The only solution had been, obviously, for Stiles to drown his sorrows in company-sponsored eggnog.

“He is sorry, you know.” Erica says. “He wants to make things better between you.”

Stiles laughs because his only other option is to cry like he had last year, curled up in his apartment the week between Christmas and New Year’s, watching all of Star Wars, even the prequels, in some sort of self-flagellation pity party. “I think that might be too little too late. Like, a whole year too late.”

Erica rolls her eyes. “You should at least hear him out. You don’t have to forgive him.”

Stiles snags two glasses of eggnog from a passing waitress. “Yeah,” he decides. “Fuck that.”

***

On Monday, Danny says, “You’re the reason they keep threatening to take the Christmas party away from us.”

Stiles likes Danny because he has a good work ethic, understands SQL an Java, is generally fair and honest, and, in a pinch, can be blackmailed into doing things Stiles doesn’t want to do. What Stiles doesn’t understand is this Cult of Danny who thinks that he’s this great and wonderful Disney Prince, because no one that great would be best friends with Jackson. Also, Danny’s kind of a dick.

“Yeah, no, I had a great time,” Stiles says with forced cheer. “I definitely didn’t die alone in a ditch or anything trying to find my way home.”

Danny shrugs. “Lydia said that Harley drove you home. I wasn’t worried.”

Stiles glowers at him. “Your concern is very touching.”

“I know,” Danny says. Danny has been friends with Jackson for years—he’s mostly immune to sass and temper tantrums. “Ticket came in for graphic design office. Isaac’s computer won’t connect to the server.”

Stiles had spent the bulk of his weekend recovering from his hangover and also savagely repressing the image of Derek in purple cashmere trying to catch Stiles’s eye. Derek hadn’t wanted all of Stiles’s attention when he had it, so Stiles is loath to give it to him now. It was all for nothing, though, if Danny is just going to fucking throw him to the wolves.

“I will literally pay you a million dollars to go instead of me.”

“You literally do not have a million dollars.” Danny doesn’t even look up from his computer, the traitor. “I’m working on that project for Finstock so I don’t really have time for whatever this is.”

Stiles had lovingly blackmailed Danny into handling the Finstock mess, like, two weeks ago, so he can’t even fight it. His dad always told him his bad karma would catch up to him eventually.

“Fine.” Stiles throws his hands up in the air and Danny just keeps on ignoring him. Stiles doesn’t really know what he expected anyways.

***

It’s a minor Christmas miracle when Stiles shows up to the graphic design office and finds it mostly empty. No Erica at her desk positively militarized with Christmas cheer and the door to Derek’s office is firmly closed. The only person around is Kira, so Stiles talks to her about Star Wars and fixes Isaac’s stupid Windows Vista computer.

He’s packing up his kit to head back down to the IT Wasteland when Kira says, “Are you bringing Malia to Scott and Alison's party?”

Stiles and Malia have been whatevering for only three weeks now, so he doesn't feel the need to expose her to Scott and Allison's perfect love quite yet. He may also have some lingering trauma from when a certain head of Graphic Design cruelly dumped him Christmas morning last year. “No?”

Kira frowns. “Does she have other plans?”

“Yes,” Stiles lies blithely. Stiles loves Kira but he's glad that she and Scott broke up however many moons ago because they really were too sweet and cloying together. Thinking the best of everything and everyone all time. “Yes, Malia is very busy. Family, you know.” Malia mostly hates her family. She's probably going to be spending the weekend watching Bear Grylls like she's going to be tested on it later.

“Maybe next year.” Kira smiles because she doesn't understand the concept of just hooking up.

“Sure,” Stiles agrees and flees before Kira can find out that Stiles bought Malia a crate of PBR for Christmas.

***

Stiles does, legitimately, have work to do because Christmas is always the time that people realize they needed this project done yesterday and then break their computers in increasingly spectacular ways. Stiles is so busy, in fact, he doesn’t realize what a good job he’s been doing avoiding Derek until he walks into Scott and Allison’s Christmas party and sees him standing underneath the mistletoe.

“Scott,” Stiles says as lovingly as possible, pulling his best friend in for a hug. “What the _fuck_.”

Scott uses his weird upper body strength to shimmy out of Stiles’s death grip. “It’s _Christmas_ ,” Scott says like it’s an excuse. “And he’s our friend.”

Stiles glares at Scott. “He’s not my friend.”

Scott shrugs because Scott is actually friends with all of his exes and doesn’t understand Stiles’s trauma. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t talk to him.”

“Sure,” Stiles agrees, because that is a really terrible plan. “I’m sure that’ll work.”

Scott beams at him, which actually makes Stiles forgive him for a lot of sins. He also resolves to avoid the mistletoe and alcohol at all costs—constant vigilance is best for cases like this.

 

***

 

It’s not that Stiles’s friends are heartless and think Derek dumping him on Christmas was an A-Okay thing to do, it’s that no one really understood what was happening because Stiles didn’t tell them.

Stiles and Derek had spent most of their three-month fling making out in inappropriate places—Derek’s office, in line at Starbucks, the coatroom at Scott and Allison's engagement party—and even Scott stopped asking. No one saw the way Derek curled around Stiles in his sleep, nose pressed against Stiles’s neck, the best bed warmer Stiles could have ever asked for.

They went grocery shopping together on the weekends and spent five hours on the phone together on Thanksgiving. Derek is the one who picked out Stiles’s dad’s Christmas gift last year. Stiles remembers spending way too long in Macy’s as Derek tried to pick out gifts for all of his siblings and he remembers Derek admitting over coffee, “It didn’t end well. With Kate.”

And Stiles had been so awed that Derek would even admit that much to him that he had said. “That’s okay,” and “Thank you for telling me,” and didn’t press for more even though he had hundreds of questions hidden under his tongue.

To be fair to Derek, they’d never put a label to it, never claimed they were doing anything with intent.

To be fair to Stiles, he and Derek both knew exactly what they were doing.

***

Derek tries to approach him while Stiles is trying to eat all of the shrimp cocktail and instantly the no-drinking plan is off. There had been sincerity and regret on Derek's face. Stiles would rather choke on a thousand dicks than talk to Derek about _feelings_ in public.

Allison finds Stiles in the kitchen, dumping brandy into his eggnog.

“Um, Stiles,” she says, “I already spiked it.”

“Betrayal calls for reinforcements,” he tells her seriously, because Allison spiking the drink is no joke, but neither is Derek wearing a holly-green sweater and _smiling_. Allison watches him for a moment before he relents and digs his car keys out of his pocket and hands them to her. “Like I would drink and drive. My dad would kill me, resurrect me, arrest me, and then kill me again.”

Allison shrugs. “Better safe than sorry. I know how you get around Derek.” With anyone else Stiles would probably ask what the _fuck_ that means, but Allison went through a rough period after her mom died and after the second time she and Scott broke up. Allison is the queen of understanding that sometimes good people do shitty things because having emotions is sort of terrible.

“Are you worried that I’m going to start begging for him to take me back?” Stiles wonders. “Or that I’m going to start humping his leg in the middle of your party? I’m honestly curious.”

“I’m worried that you’re going to punch him in the face,” Allison says. Due to weird age differences and the world being a terrible place, Allison’s aunt is also Derek’s terrible ex, although everyone’s mostly over that weirdness by now. She probably sees what’s going on better than anybody, even Stiles. Especially Stiles. “Lydia told me about the Christmas party.”

Stiles glares at her. “I was fine at the Christmas party. Lydia’s a goddamn liar.”

Allison doesn’t even have the grace to pretend like she’s not rolling her eyes at him. “ _And_ ,” she adds, “I know you said you were fine, but you and Derek sort of, whatever’d, this time last year and break ups can sneak up on you sometimes.”

Stiles takes a giant gulp of his eggnog and tries not to gag what with how it tastes like nail polish remover and bubble yum more than anything else. “As you can see, my coping mechanisms are superb.” Allison laughs and Stiles finds it hard not to be charmed by her. “Want some?”

“No,” she tells him, still smiling, and Stiles is really trying on to hold onto his anger so he can choke down this drink, “but thank you.”

***

Realistically, his hangover could be way worse.

“That’s because you switched to just drinking rum straight from the bottle,” Scott informs him. “You know how dairy disagrees with you, dude.”

“Ugh,” Stiles says because he is still hungover and slept on Scott’s terrible futon last night. “Please tell me I didn’t do anything Erica and Lydia are going to hold over me for the rest of my life.”

“No, you're fine.” Scott says. Stiles gives him a look because Scott likes to lie to protect Stiles’s feelings. He amends, “I made them delete anything incriminating.”

“You're the best,” Stiles tells him, as heartfelt as possible given that he sort of wants to curl up and die.

“I made breakfast sandwiches,” Scott says. “With thick cut bacon.”

Stiles may be hungover from a night of poor decision making trying to avoid his ex that was supposed to be a fling but wasn't, but he hasn't felt this loved in a very long time. “If this marriage with Allison falls through or you want to give bigamy a try, I'm here for you, dude.”

Scott laughs but Stiles is dead serious.

***

After Stiles has had his breakfast sandwich and drank a gallon of water and brushed his teeth with his spare toothbrush that lives at Scott's house, Scott looks him dead in the eye and says, “We can talk about it if you want.”

“No,” Stiles lies. “I'm fine.”

Because Scott is a pal, he doesn't push the issue. But Stiles flees anyway, before Scott can puppy-dog-eyes it out of him.

***

The next day, Stiles is leaving the mall—relatively unscathed by all the Christmas cheer and with a bulk of his Christmas shopping done—when his phone pings with two unread texts and a new voicemail.

He ignores the text from Malia, types out a quick answer to his dad ( _Friday 6:30. Don’t try to sneak real bacon i know what your doctor said_ ), and waits until he’s in his car to listen to the voicemail from Erica.

“Stiles, don’t hang up.” Except it’s not Erica’s voice at all, but Derek’s. “I knew you’d delete this without listening if you saw my number. I know you’re still mad and I get it. I messed up. I’m sorry. You get to be mad. But I thought you’d be okay. How do I make you okay?” There’s a pause and Stiles can feel his heart beating in his throat. “You deserve to be happy. I have to go; Erica doesn’t know I stole her phone.”

Everything in Stiles’s being tells him to delete the message, listening to it won’t change anything. Derek is still an asshole and evidence that he has a fucking heart after all just makes everything worse. But Stiles wants to be happy and a part of him still wants him to be happy with Derek.

He doesn’t delete the message but he also doesn’t embarrass himself by crying in the Beacon Hills Mall parking lot ether.

***

 _YOU BROKE MY HEART ASSHOLE_.

It’s midnight and Stiles has been not thinking about that fucking voicemail or Derek’s terrible attempts to apologize in person all day. He has Mariah Carey blasted to 11 because his neighbors are terrible people and he gives zero shits about what they want to hear or when they want to hear it.

Derek is in Stiles’s phone as “Derek King of Douche Mntn.” He was going to go with “that motherfucker,” but he has Jackson in his phone as “jackass” and Erica as “tits of rage,” so he didn’t want to be confused.

It hurts, more than Stiles thought it would, to see Derek’s name at the top of his text message. The last message he sent Derek was almost exactly a year ago and reads “if you wear that new sweater i bought you no way are we making it to Erica’s on time” with several eggplant emoji following. It hurts to look at, just like the memory that comes with it of Derek wearing that fucking sweater because he’s a tease. They were hideously late to Erica’s party and Stiles hadn’t been remotely apologetic then.

Derek doesn’t answer Stiles’s text, but he mostly expected him not to.

***

Danny has decorated the office sometimes between when Stiles left last night and wandered in this morning. He also probably had time to go for a run and/or have athletic sex with whichever twink he’s dating this month, the bastard.

“Ugh,” Stiles tells him, heartfelt. “You don’t even like Christmas.”

Danny shrugs, which lets Stiles know he did it mostly to piss Stiles off. It’s not that Stiles doesn’t like Christmas, okay, he just doesn’t like it shoved down his throat. He’s going to watch _Year without Santa Claus_ with Scott, like they do every year, because he’s not a monster. However, work is not really the place where he wants to be forced to be jolly or whatever.

“Ticket came in from graphic design,” Danny says. “I’ll take it.”

The rage and deep distrust Stiles was starting to harbor about the mistletoe that has been strung around his desk dissipates immediately. Sometimes Danny can be pretty awesome, actually.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Stiles says, and means it.

***

He’s in the middle of his weekly This Is All The Problems We Have And All The Ways We Are Going To Underfund You To Solve Them meeting when his phone pings with a text message.

_is it better or worse if I say I didn't mean to?_

And then, before Stiles can work himself into a frothy rage over that copout apology:

_I never gave you your gift last year_

Stiles deflates like a balloon. Derek hadn't. Stiles still has his gift for Derek flung into the darkest recesses of his closet, gathering dust. The breakup had occurred Christmas morning, still curled around each other in bed, weighed down by the quilt Derek's grandma had made him.

Stiles is confident he would have taken the whole affair a lot better if he hadn’t had to walk of shame out of Derek's mom's house because Derek woke up on Christmas morning and realized whatever he felt for Stiles, he wasn't willing to work through his own fears to make it work. Stiles has been dumped by people for not loving him as much as he loves them, but never on Christmas. Never after falling asleep the night before whispering secrets to each other, Stiles’s heart rabbiting away in his chest because this was different, he thought, he knew it in his bones.

 _well I sold yours on eBay. don't think you can bribe me with the promise of presents,_ Stiles types back and then promptly turns off his phone. Honestly, fuck Derek.

Stiles takes furious notes for the rest of the meeting. He has never been so attentive at one of these, and Stiles is pretty sure he'll never be again.

***

There's a box waiting for Stiles at his desk, neatly wrapped in butcher paper and tied with green ribbon. Secret Santa was banned in the office three years ago after The Incident, and no one has been dumb enough to try and start it up again. Stiles looks around for answers, but Danny is nowhere to be found and Finstock is pretty much only good for when you need someone to say something crazy. He opens the card and his hope that Karen from finance with the dangerous-looking shoes has realized her burning passion for him is immediately crushed. He recognizes the handwriting instantly and his heart sinks.

_Merry Christmas,_

_Derek_

No secret messages. No apologies. Stiles throws the gift in the trash. Derek already ruined last Christmas; he can’t have this one too.

***

“I don't know what that asshole thinks, giving me a goddamn year-old gift from when we were screwing.” Stiles has worked himself into a comfortable groove, bitching about Derek and pacing around Malia’s apartment. Probably not the most appropriate venue, but all his other friends actually know Derek and have opinions on how much his manpain gives him a free pass.

“So we're not having sex tonight?” Malia asks, eyes flicking from the TV to Stiles and back to the TV again. “I just need to know if I should record this episode of _Storage Wars_.”

Stiles flops down next to her on the couch. “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be telling you all this.”

Malia is a fling the way Derek was supposed to be a fling. They hang out, they have sex, and there is no expectation of forevers or even next weeks. Malia is iffy on human connection, but she always keeps the beer Stiles likes in the fridge and hasn’t once asked if he’d like to meet her father. More than that, Stiles knows that when whatever they are eventually stops, they will still be friends.

“Did you open it?” she asks. “Or are you just assuming it’s some sort of emotional blackmail?”

“He dumped me,” Stiles explains again. “On Christmas morning. When all I was wearing were my boxers and my lucky socks. Because he wasn’t sure he _loved me_.”

Malia presses a button on the remote and Stiles sees the little red record light on the cable box flash on. “Okay,” she says flatly. “But did you open it?”

Stiles is sort of horrified Malia knows without asking that he fished the present out of the trash almost immediately and shoved it into his bag. He sort of hopes it’s fragile and expensive and that it broke into a million pieces. “Not yet.”

“Give it to me and I’ll open it and then you can stop whining about it. Maybe it’s terrible.”

Maybe it's terrible and fragile and broken. Maybe it's proof they weren't going to work out after all. Maybe not. No matter what, Stiles is going to eventually open it anyways.

“Fine,” he says. “I'll open it. But I can't be held accountable for what I do next.”

Malia shrugs. “Okay.” And that settles it.

***

It's a mug. Fragile, but unharmed by Stiles throwing it into the trunk of his car.

Derek clearly had it made on one of those custom screen printing websites or maybe even as a favor through work—white porcelain with a picture printed along the side. It's of Derek, frowning, wearing a flower crown and holding a screaming baby, taken at one of his siblings’ kid’s birthday parties.

“That motherfucker,” Stiles curses. Stiles fucking _loves_ this picture. He'd first seen it at Laura’s house when Derek had made a valiant and unsubtle attempt to remove it from the fridge and presumably throw it into the trash. Derek had claimed the picture to be nothing more than his sister's attempt at blackmail and if she didn't at least take it off permanent display he was going to tell their mom about that summer at the lake house.

Stiles had watched with rapt attention, like a tennis match. As an only child, he found the constant attempt to traumatize one another fascinating. Also, it gave him the perfect opportunity to sneak a picture with his phone and make it Derek's caller ID picture.

The fact that Derek had it printed on a mug says something Stiles would rather not think about. Stiles has no idea why Derek would give this to him now.

Malia takes the mug and examines it. She is very clearly unmoved by the sight of Derek in a flower crown and Stiles is impressed by her resilience. “I think it means he still loves you.”

“No,” Stiles disagrees. That was never their problem.

Malia shrugs. “We’ll figure it out. I'll be here either way, as a friend.”

Out of all the ways Stiles has been dumped at Christmas, this is the kindest.

***

 _Is it penance?_ Stiles texts, finally back at home, the mug front and center on his kitchen table.

He's brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas by the time Derek answers.

_I had it made for you. It's yours._

Stiles is halfway through typing “fuck you and your emotional constipation” when another text comes through:

_Merry Christmas Stiles. You deserve a great one this year._

Stiles revises his text.

_Why couldn't you have worked through all this last year and left me alone?_

He turns off his phone. There's no answer Derek could send that Stiles wants to hear.

***

As per tradition, Stiles goes with his dad to cut down their Christmas tree. They're both allergic to pine, but tradition is tradition and Stilinskis are nothing if not stubborn.

“Is Malia coming to dinner this year?” His dad asks when they're halfway up the hill at the ancient Christmas tree farm they come to every year. There's no cell reception from this point on, which Stiles's dad definitely knows, so he can't send out an SOS or fake a work emergency.

“No,” Stiles says. “We weren't really a thing, dad, and now we are definitely not. She made that pretty clear.”

His dad frowns at him. Stiles's parents found each other young and got married young and his dad still wears his wedding ring, so he clearly does not understand why Stiles latches on like a bulldog to people who are not interested in matrimony let alone monogamy. “I'm sorry, son,” he says. “How about that one?” He points to a near-ish tree.

Stiles shakes his head. “Too small. What about this guy?”

“Too tall.” His dad says and blissfully drops the subject long enough for them to find the perfect tree.

***

“So I guess it's a moot point to say this was a lot easier with Derek helping last year.”

His dad has his eyes trained on the road, Christmas music playing on the radio. Christmas tree day is an acceptable time to start listening to Christmas music, so Stiles will allow it. However, he has no idea why he thought his dad would drop the subject when he was clearly waiting until Stiles was trapped and defenseless.

“Yeah, dad, I think that might be a little pointless.”

His dad shoots him the _watch your tone, Stiles_ look. “How’s he doing, anyways?” he asks with the aggressive casualness of a man who has spent his entire career in law enforcement.

“Still an asshole,” Stiles says, and then amends, “He keeps trying to apologize. And he gave me my gift from last year. What is that even about?”

“Maybe he is really trying to apologize,” his dad suggests. “Or at least make things right.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I think he’s a little late on that one. Like, a whole year too late.”

“Kid, sometimes it takes a while to realize you made a mistake. And then even longer to be brave enough to fix it.”

“Great, I’m sure his therapist is real proud of him,” Stiles says and turns the radio up because he’d rather listen to Kelly Clarkson croon about her grownup Christmas list than continue this conversation.

His dad looks at him, a clear violation of everything he told Stiles when he was teaching him to drive. “Maybe you’re still angry for a reason.”

Maybe his dad has a point. Maybe Stiles will get a real Christmas miracle and time will heal all hearts. Either way, having gotten in the last word, his dad finally drops it.

***

The mug is still on Stiles's kitchen table, taunting him, when he gets back home. Stiles is still terrified of what it means—of what it meant when Derek first had it made; what it means now, a year later.

“You're not the boss of me,” he tells Derek's stupid frowning face. He thinks the baby is either Evan or maybe Caroline. There was a time when Stiles was getting good at telling all of Derek’s eight million nieces and nephews apart, but it’s mostly a useless skill now.

Stiles makes himself a hot chocolate so he doesn't have to look at the mug or Derek anymore.

Because it's Christmas time, and Stiles has always had terrible coping mechanisms, he dumps an ill-advised amount of peppermint schnapps in. Because Stiles is very probably still in love, he texts Derek.

_Dad misses you_

Derek's response comes fast, faster than usual, and Stiles tries not to read too much into it.

_say hi to him for me_

_Laura wants me to tell you she's still holding out for that gingerbread recipe_

Stiles snorts into his cocoa. He can see it—Derek and Laura and their ginormous family crowded into their parents’ tiny living room. Or, maybe they’re at Laura’s tonight, the kids screaming in the next room, Derek and Cora the only bachelor holdouts in the middle of chaos.

One of the best parts about Derek was his family. Unlike Derek, the Hales as a whole were loud and raucous, generations all clamoring over each other at holidays and family functions. Stiles has his dad and some grandparents and some cousins on the other side of the country he doesn’t really know. The closest thing he’ll have to nieces and nephews is when Scott and Allison have kids. Derek’s family was overwhelming at times, and Stiles had wondered if he'd ever get used to having that many people to care for, to care for him. It turned out, like so many things, to be irrelevant.

 _sorry secret family recipe_ Stiles texts back. It had been his mother's recipe, something she’d clipped out of a magazine. Stiles remembers telling Laura about it—how they’d always called it a family secret but Mrs. Whelan showed up to the holiday cookie exchange with the exact same recipe and the jig was up—just three days before Derek dumped him.

 _Laura says she's still holding out hope_ Derek responds, which, what the fuck. Stiles gulps down too much hot cocoa and burns his tongue. _Goodnight Stiles_

 _goodnight_ he types back, on autopilot, although he resists the urge to send a string of emoji.

He dumps the hot cocoa in the sink and goes to bed.

***

Danny shows up to work looking like someone from a Puffs Plus Lotion commercial; that is, sick, but artfully so. But, when he opens his mouth, he sounds like sixty-year-old chain-smoker with emphysema.

“Ticket for graphic design came in,” he says, around his hacking cough.

“Oh my god, are you _dying_?” Stiles asks. Danny never gets sick.

Finstock strolls in from the other room and yells, “Mahealani, go home. You're going to get everyone sick.” He covers his mouth with his arm, like that will help, and shoos Danny away with the other.

Which is how Stiles is left alone with the ticket for Erica’s computer that has been acting up ever since they installed the latest version of InDesign.

“It wouldn't be a problem except that _someone_ decided that the deadline should be before Christmas and not after New Year's like a normal person.” Erica glares at Derek, who is in his office and being surly with someone on the phone. He still manages to multitask enough to flip her off, and Stiles has to struggle not to smile.

Erica laughs, because she is the kind of person to find her boss giving her the middle finger at work hilarious, and turns back to her computer. “So can you fix it?”

Stiles clicks on a few things and keeps getting the same error message. “Probably, but you might want to go hit Starbucks or something. It might take a while.”

“I don’t really want to be working anyways.” She shrugs and kidnaps Boyd and Isaac for a coffee run, leaving Stiles alone in graphic design with Derek, the exact scenario he has spent the better part of a year avoiding.

“Great,” he says to himself, getting to work. “This is going to be fine.”

***

The biggest problem with Erica's computer, Stiles finds, is that there is tinsel and Christmas lights that keep twinkling and distracting him. But Stiles has always gotten tunnel vision when working on a project, following it until its most ridiculous end, everything else be damned, so once he gets into it the rest of the world fades away. Which is probably why he doesn't hear when Derek stops making ridiculous threats over the phone.

“Is her computer going to make it?” Derek asks, something like a smile at the corner of his mouth, the first words he's said to Stiles since February when Stiles told him to fuck off and die and Derek had finally gotten the message.

Stiles startles and very nearly tips out of the chair. “It could probably do with having any big project completed after the New Year.” Stiles tells him and is proud of the way he sounds fine.

Derek actually does smile and Stiles feels that familiar pitter-patter under his ribs. It's unfair that someone as jacked and mean looking as Derek Hale also has bunny teeth and a smile made of sunshine.

“Did you get a good tree this year?” he asks. Erica's Christmas lights light up Derek’s face, and he seems a lot less intimidating highlighted in multicolor light.

Stiles finds himself leaning towards Derek without even thinking about it. He remembers before they got together, when they used to flirt and bicker in equal measure, a game Stiles was always loath to quit. He always came back to Derek. Always found a reason to update his computer and take on his projects and poke fun at his mom car and addiction to leather coats. But that was then.

Stiles jerks back in his chair a little, tinsel brushing at his shoulders. “Not as big as last year, but we’ll actually have room for the star on top.”

“That’s good,” he says, stilted. Derek opens his mouth like he's going to add something, shuts it again, and then apparently puts his courage to the sticking place. “Erica says my sweaters are causing you emotional turmoil.”

Stiles laughs, completely caught off guard.

“I can stop. If you want.” Derek adds. He sort of looks like he’d rather set himself on fire than continue this conversation. Stiles is genuinely impressed that he hasn’t cut and run yet.

“I think the sweaters are the least of the problem,” Stiles tells him. “I thought you’d gotten rid of them.”

Derek had bought them because Stiles had asked him too, but after they’d broken up, he’d stopped wearing them. A casualty of war, Stiles had figured, like the way he couldn’t go to that diner again on the corner of 3rd and Main. It had been a physical shock to see Derek at the Christmas party wearing one, when he’d spent the past year resolutely ignoring Stiles and all things Stiles adjacent.

“I thought it was time to bring them back again.” He looks like he wants to say something else, or maybe something different, but this conversation has clearly surpassed Derek’s ability to emote on any given day.

Stiles takes pity on him; it’s not like he really wants to talk to Derek about feelings and sweaters and metaphors in the fucking office when Erica could return at any moment. “Great. Well, I’m going to finish fixing Erica’s computer now.”

Derek nods and does his favorite thing—leaves without another word.

It takes all of Stiles’s willpower to get back to work and not turn into a ball of hysterical laughter under Erica’s desk. Clearly, he’s doing better than he thought.

*** 

“I think the sweaters are a metaphor. A metaphor for _love_ ,” Stiles tells Scott. Ostensibly, they are watching _The Year without Santa Claus_ , but the eggnog kicked in around Snow Miser’s song and Stiles found himself wanting to tell Scott everything about the Year without Derek that he’s held close to the vest for so long.

Scott stares at him blankly because Scott finds it easy to communicate his feelings of love and romance and always has. “Maybe he wasn’t wearing them because it was summer.”

Stiles scoffs. “Derek wore his leather jacket to his nephew’s birthday party _in July_.” Stiles has always found Derek’s commitment to aesthetic hilarious. It was what he first made fun of him for, when Stiles was the new guy in IT and Derek was just the hot, grumpy guy in charge of graphic design. The urge to poke and prod until Derek had given something away was instantaneous and insatiable. “I don’t know how a guy with that big of a family came away with absolutely zero social skills. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Derek has a big family?” Scott asks, because of course that’s what he chooses to focus on. “I thought he just had a sister? Laura?”

“He just talks about her the most, but he has another sister, twin brothers, a creepy uncle, some normal aunts and uncles and four million cousins,” Stiles ticks everyone off on his fingers as he lists them. “Plus Mark, Adam, and Laura all have kids. And then a bunch of his cousins have kids.” Scott boggles at Stiles and Stiles feels himself getting defensive for no reason. “What? Like you never met Allison’s family?”

“I just didn’t think you and Derek were at a me and Allison level. You said it was a fling. You said that _a lot_ , dude.”

For some reason, Scott has yet to figure out that Stiles lies casually and often, sometimes just details to make a story better, and sometimes the big stuff because it's easier than the truth. Stiles shifts uncomfortably in his seat because he has not had enough eggnog for this conversation, even though he was the one who started it.

“Derek was supposed to be a fling.” Stiles can feel the catch in his voice, knows he gave away more than he meant to, but this is Scott.

“I’m sorry, man.” Scott bumps his shoulder against Stiles. “What if the sweater is a metaphor?”

Stiles throws his arms in the air. “I don’t know, dude. You’re the happy in love one.”

Scott contemplates his drink for a moment. “Well, do you still love him?”

 _Yes_ , Stiles thinks, knee-jerk. That was the problem. But Stiles doesn’t know how to say it without making his feelings feel small when every moment with Derek, Stiles felt like his heart would burst from it all. Stiles doesn’t know how to tell Scott that he loved Derek before he ever took him to dinner or took him to bed. That those three months had been the best of Stiles’s life, and not just because of the sex, but because of the easy laughter and easy companionship. Stiles has fought for so many things in his life and it felt so novel, so wonderful, to not have to fight for this.

“He broke my heart,” Stiles says instead. “How do I trust him again?”

And, easy as breathing, Scott answers, “You have to forgive him, but you have to forgive yourself first. Falling in love is _hard_ , dude. You have to be proud of yourself for trying.”

***

Scott and Allison dated three times before they finally got engaged. The only thing about their engagement that surprised Stiles was that it had taken them so long to get there. The thing that surprised Scott and Allison was that Stiles had asked them to seat him and Derek next to each other at the engagement party.

“Um, okay,” Allison said.

“Why?” Scott asked.

Stiles had rolled his eyes and said, “So I can feel him up under the table.” And clearly neither Allison nor Scott had believed him, because when they walked in on him and Derek in the coat closet before things had become too graphic, things were said. Mostly by Scott.

“Dude! _Dude_. You can tell me if you’re dating a dude; I don’t care.”

Stiles had very nearly laughed in Scott's face. He knows that. Stiles dated dudes and ladies on and off until he’d met Lydia and quickly formed his ten-year plan. The only thing Scott had cared about during Stiles free love years was if Stiles was being safe, because Scott has been the Mom Friend their entire lives.

“Oh my god, it’s just a fling,” Stiles had said, sounding more horrified than he actually was. He wasn’t embarrassed that his friends had caught him with his tongue down Derek’s throat, he was worried they could see how head over heels in love he was already. And Stiles repeated the lie any time Scott asked, _it’s just a fling it’s just a fling_ because he didn’t know how to admit to himself, let alone Derek, that this was very probably it. Derek should know first, Stiles decided.

Christmas Eve, Stiles kissed _I love you_ into Derek’s mouth. Christmas morning, Derek looked Stiles dead in the eye and said it wasn’t enough.

Stiles doesn’t know why he should believe it would be enough now.

***

 _Are the sweaters a metaphor??_ Stiles texts. He should have gone to bed hours ago.

 _They’re sweaters,_ Derek responds and there’s never been any poetry in that boy’s soul, so Stiles has no idea why he loves him so much.

***

Lydia throws a Christmas dinner every year on the Friday before the actual holiday. Stiles had made the mistake of calling it “Christmas Friendsgiving,” once, back when he was first trying to woo her, and it nearly earned him a lifetime ban. He kind of wishes he had been, now, standing in her doorway with a plate of his mother’s gingerbread cookies and wearing his very best tweed blazer.

“I thought you were on Team Stiles,” he hisses into Lydia's ear when she hugs him hello in the entryway of her stupidly large home. Derek is talking to Kira in the living room, not an emotional-turmoil sweater in sight. Instead, he's wearing a Santa hat and a sweater vest, like he's trying to give Stiles a heart attack.

Lydia looks at him, eyes narrowed. “You and Malia broke up and I needed an even number of people. Besides,” she adds, “I made him swear on his car that he would stay ten feet away from you at all times.”

“You are beautiful and perfect and I never doubted you,” Stiles tells her. Lydia shoves him towards the kitchen and doesn’t openly call him out because she’s a lady and also it’s Christmas.

***

It would be fine, except Stiles can't stop looking at Derek. He's been making awkward conversation with one of Jackson's terrible friends for at least fifteen minutes and Stiles can't look away.

“He just looks so _uncomfortable_ ,” Stiles marvels.

“Please don’t,” Danny sighs. “I get enough of your weird crush at work.”

Stiles ignores him; Danny doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “Maybe I should go say something? Thank him for the mug. I don’t think I thanked him for the mug.”

“Cool,” Danny says. “Great. Please don’t tell me how it goes on Monday.”

“I liked you better when you had a chest cold,” Stiles tells him and then decides. “Fuck it. I’m going to talk to him.”

Danny, because he’s heartless, does not wish Stiles luck.

***

“Lydia told me that if I looked at you, talked to you, or tried to justify myself to you, she’d key my car,” Derek says, turning around before Stiles can say _hello_ , and completely destroying the sneak-up on him plan he had going. Stiles is kind of impressed that even Josh Groban’s wailing was no match for Derek’s freaky bat hearing.

“I can live with those consequences,” Stiles tells him. “I just wanted to thank you for my gift. So, thanks for the mug,” he adds lamely, his determination fast leaving him. He should have had another drink before he came over. Derek is still wearing the Santa hat and he still has grumpy eyebrows and Stiles had forgotten the exact shade of his eyes. Here, in Lydia’s living room and away from Erica’s twinkle lights, he seems more real. For the first time in a long time, Stiles doesn’t feel angry. He just feels sad.

“Merry Christmas, Stiles,” Derek says, soft, like he’s not quite sure this isn’t a dream.

They both pause for a moment, awkward and unsure. Then, because it’s Christmas and Christmas is a time of miracles, Stiles finds the courage to say, “If you wanted to talk about it, I’d be willing to listen.”

Derek opens his mouth and then shuts it again. Stiles would still rather throw himself into the sun than have this conversation anywhere near the rest of his friends. “I’m going to leave before Lydia actually does key your car.”

Stiles refuses to feel embarrassed about how he awkwardly shuffles away, not when his heart is beating like he just ran a marathon. Scott asks him later why he’s smiling like that and Stiles finds that he honestly does not have the words to explain himself.

***

Stiles wakes up the next morning to three texts on his phone.

The first is from Scott, confirming that Stiles and his dad are coming over for Christmas dinner. The second is from Lydia.

_I did not key Derek’s car last night because Danny swears that you started it. If he was wrong, I can still have his car towed_

_down kujo,_ Stiles texts back, _but thanks_.

The third text is from Derek.

_The diner at 2pm?_

Stiles hates the way he can taste hope at the back of his throat. _See you there_

***

It’s awkward until it’s not.

Stiles finds Derek in the back room, away from the hustle and bustle of the cash register and pastry case. He’s glad that Derek didn’t sit in their old booth. They used to come here all the time, enough that they had a booth and knew the wait-staff, and Stiles is still holding out hope that when his memories of Derek hurt less he’ll be able to come back.

Stepping in today had been like coming back home. There are garlands of tinsel strung around the windows and one of the booths has been taken out to make room for a garish silver tinsel Christmas tree. Stiles wants to ask if the jukebox or ATM were ever fixed, since they both still bear out of order signs.

“I haven’t been back since,” Stiles says, awkwardly settled in across from Derek at their booth.

“Me neither,” admits Derek and Stiles laughs. Stiles didn’t want to have to explain his relationship status to Carrie or Molly, who probably knew more about their relationship than Stiles’s own father. More important, Stiles didn’t want to run into Derek. It’s stupid that they’ve both been avoiding the same ghosts for a year. “You said you’d let me talk if I wanted to talk.”

“I did,” Stiles agrees. “Did you figure out what you wanted to say?”

Derek puts down the menu he’d been worrying, pressing his hands flat against the table like he’s trying to ground himself. “I was scared,” he says. “And I was wrong.”

Stiles blinks. “That’s it?” It’s been a year. Stiles is hurt and tired and scared and hopeful. If Derek wants to make things better, he’s going to have to try harder.

“No.” Derek frowns. “You said you loved me and I panicked. With Kate, she said she loved me because she wanted something and I—I spent the entire night trying to figure out what you wanted from me.”

“And what did you come up with?”

Derek laughs. “Just _me_. But that seemed pretty stupid at the time.”

Stiles catches the waitress’s eye—some kid just out of high school who doesn't know Derek and Stiles from Adam—and orders them two coffees. Stiles needs something else between them besides feelings and a menu he has memorized.

“Not for nothing, dude, but you could have waited to dump me until after New Year’s. It would have really cut down on the crushing humiliation.” Stiles isn’t a perfect person by any means, so he gets a sick thrill when Derek flinches.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, and it’s the first time he’s said it that Stiles actually believes him. “I thought if I didn’t do it right away then I’d never be able to do it.”

Stiles can feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest, but he’s had a year to work on his resolve. “Is this when you tell me you want to be friends?”

“Stiles, I do not want to be friends with you. But I’ll take what I can get.”

“It’s been a year, Derek. You’re going to have to say it if you want me to believe it.” Stiles tells him. “Although the gift and the sweaters have been a nice touch. They definitely signal personal growth and I’m proud of you, man, I am.” he pats Derek on the hand, good job. He used to tell Derek that he was going to give him a sticker every time he actually emoted like a real boy, but that was before Derek ever shoved his tongue down Stiles’s throat.

Derek makes a face. “I’m trying.”

Stiles waves the waitress back over. “Well, keep trying. I’ll be here until you figure it out.”

***

Stiles shows up to his dad’s house with a blu-ray of _Elf_ and a bag of mini marshmallows.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, flinging himself into the recliner.

His dad takes off his reading glasses and sighs. “I’ll make the hot cocoa. But if you put on _Love Actually_ , you’re telling me about it.”

A mug of homemade hot cocoa in, Stiles tells his dad about it anyways. But he still makes him watch _Love Actually_.

***

Danny takes a picture of Stiles as soon as he walks into the office on Monday.

“Lydia wanted proof of life,” Danny says. “For some reason, she doesn’t trust you around Derek.”

“ _Rude_ ,” Stiles tells him.

Danny shrugs. “I haven’t been taking most of the graphic design tickets for the past year for fun.”

“I can deal with the graphic design office.” Stiles scowls and Danny’s eyebrows shoot up. It is, one hundred percent, a complete change of tune. Fortunately, Danny doesn’t want to be any more involved in Stiles’s life than he already is.

“Great,” he agrees. “HR is having a problem with their payroll software and the marketing intern did something stupid with dropbox.”

Stiles picks the payroll issue. Either way it’s going to be terrible.

***

 _I’m fine_ he texts Lydia. _even scott doesn’t worry this much_

 _Scott is the one who suggested proof of life_ , Lydia types back.

Stiles knows his best bro and he knows that he didn't actually want a picture of Stiles’s Monday-morning bedhead because Scott had called on Sunday to talk about it. _As a JOKE_

Because she’s a lady, Lydia sends him the middle finger emoji.

***

“Everyone saw us talk at Lydia’s Christmas party and now they’re worried I’m going to melt into a puddle of goo or something.” Stiles is standing in the doorway of Derek’s office and running off a quad shot venti chestnut praline latte he chugged because drinking during his lunch break is considered a workplace violation.

Derek leans back in his chair; if he's surprised to see Stiles there, he doesn't show it. “Good thing they didn't see us eat lunch together. They'd have you committed.”

“I am still holding out for that possibility.” Somewhere behind him, Stiles can hear Kira activating the friendship text tree. “Anyways, I was hoping you'd be at lunch so I could leave this on your desk and not have to look at your face.”

Stiles holds up the box he has with him, it's a bit dusty and the bow is limp after spending the year in the back of Stiles’s closet, but otherwise it's held up remarkably well.

“So I take it you didn’t sell it on eBay?” Stiles tries not to smile at Derek’s look of surprised wonder.

“Look, I bought it for you, okay?” Stiles puts it on the corner of Derek’s desk rather unceremoniously. “And now I have to go back to my office where I have actual work to do and none of my friends are spreading terrible lies about me literally right behind my back.”

“Fuck off, you did this to yourself, Stilinski!” Erica shouts back from where she is furiously whispering with Kira at her desk.

Stiles shrugs at Derek as if to say _see?_ and Derek laughs.

Derek picks up the present and Stiles can’t be here for when he unwraps it. Stiles had found it at a craft fair last year, an origami wolf in a glass cloche bell jar. He’d texted Laura to ask if it was stupid, but she’d just laughed at him. Stiles doesn’t want to know what Derek thinks of it, except that Stiles has always wanted to know everything especially about Derek. “I’ll open it after you leave,” Derek says. “Since I don’t need Erica accusing me of causing you any more emotional turmoil. And Stiles,” Derek adds, just before Stiles can book it, “thanks.”

Stiles leaves before he embarrasses himself in front of witnesses.

***

 _Thank you_ Derek texts that night _it’s perfect_ _._

He sends a picture of the wolf nestled on his mantle, in between all his family photos. Stiles stares at it for a long while. They never had any pictures of just them when they were together. There wasn’t any photographic evidence for either one of them to hide or destroy in the wake of their dissolution. It feels like a declaration now, putting this token in with pictures of everyone Derek holds dear.

But they’ve already walked down this road, of Derek not saying what he means. It’s a step, but Stiles knows he needs more.

***

Stiles’s last day of work before he takes off for the end of the year he spends like he always does—working his way through the mountain of food in his office and, when that turns uninteresting, raiding the candy stashes in all the other departments.

He’s wearing his Christmas sweater, as is tradition, and everyone in the building seems to be in a similar state of Christmas cheer and complete unwillingness to be productive employees.

By the time Stiles makes it to graphic design he’s already solved a problem in accounts payable, spilled powdered sugar all over himself, and is trying to figure out if anyone will notice if he leaves at three. This close to Christmas, Erica’s twinkle lights and constant barrage of Christmas music seems thematic and fun.

“I have come to eat all of your candy,” Stiles declares, and Erica rolls her eyes.

“There is no candy. This department is run by Derek Hale.”

Stiles tuts at her. “I don’t believe you; Derek loves fudge. And he’s probably hiding candy canes in his desk again.”

Erica narrows her eyes. “Show me.”

And because they are both good employees and good people, they take the fact that Derek is not there as a chance to rifle through all of his shit. It doesn’t take long. Derek has always had a secret candy drawer for as long as Stiles has known him.

“Told you,” Stiles says, pulling out a tin of Trader Joe’s Peppermint Bark.

Erica considers him for a moment. “I’m glad you guys are working things out. He’s been an absolute monster all year without you around to remind him that he has a personality.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Stiles shifts uncomfortably. Erica has always been Derek’s friend first and Stiles’s second. He hands Erica the peppermint bark.  “Well, I’m going home now before we start talking about feelings at work.”

 Erica smirks at him. “I’ll tell Derek you said hi.”

Stiles wishes she was joking but he knows she’s not.

***

Last year, Stiles spent Christmas Eve with Derek and his family at their family lodge in the mountains. Generations of Hales were all pressed up against each other, which meant that there were a couple of cousins bringing around their boyfriends and girlfriends for the first time too, so Stiles wasn’t the only fresh meat. It was loud and it was raucous and it was completely different for Stiles.

This year he’s back with what he knows: drinking eggnog with his dad, both of them pretending that they aren’t trying to sneak off and finish their Christmas wrapping.

“Good to have you here this year, kid,” his dad says, kicking off the sentimental portion of the evening.

Which is of course when Derek texts, because apparently his new Christmas tradition is to disrupt Stiles’s.

“Yeah, it’s good to be here,” Stiles tells his dad, thumbing open the text.

_If I told you I loved you, would you go to dinner with me?_

_What is with you and trying to ruin Christmas???_ Stiles texts back before dumping some more rum into his eggnog.

“What a total copout,” he says out loud. “‘If I told you I loved you would you go to dinner with me?’ What kind of terrible line is that?”

His dad gives him a look. “So you’re giving Derek another chance?”

“If he stops being a cryptic shit, I am,” Stiles says and finds that he honestly does mean it. It’s one thing to give gifts and to exchange texts at odd hours of the night, but it’s completely different to say the words and find them to be completely true. The last time they did this, they weren’t honest with the people around them and they weren’t honest with themselves.

 _If you told me you loved me, dinner would be an option_. Stiles adds. Derek doesn’t text back, which, typical.

***

Stiles is pulling cinnamon rolls out of the oven when the doorbell rings. He finds Derek on his doorstep, wearing a bright red sweater and holding a gift-wrapped box.

“Merry Christmas, Stiles,” he says, while Stiles is still in shock. “I wanted to give you this.”

“Uh, come in,” Stiles says, ushering Derek inside.

Derek looks a little awkward, standing in Stiles’s living room like he’s not supposed to touch anything. He hands the present to Stiles, his body completely stiff and uncomfortable.

The gift wrapping is a little foxed around the edges. Stiles’s sinking suspicion is confirmed when he tears into the paper to find a scarf: soft, thick wool in a holly-green and wine-purple plaid. He remembers that he’d found it last year and terrorized Derek with how he could wear the scarf and Derek could wear his new purple sweater and they could _match_.

“You bought me the matching sweater scarf?” Stiles asks. The scarf is just as soft as he remembers. He wants to force Derek into the purple sweater so they can go to JC Penney and get a bunch of terrible portraits of them taken. “Did you get that mug made _this year_? Oh my god, you did.”

Derek rocks back on his heels. “I didn’t know how to tell you that I was sorry and that I love you.” He coughs and honest-to-god blushes. “That I’m in love with you.”

Stiles laughs. “Laura totally kicked your ass and told you to man up, didn’t she?”

“I get it if I ruined us forever,” Derek barrels on. “But you deserve to know.”

“You tell someone you’re sorry and that you love them exactly like that, you idiot. By _saying_ it.” Stiles puts the scarf down. “If I kiss you, you don’t get to break my heart again.”

There’s the beginnings of a smile on Derek’s face. “Fair enough.”

“Or ruin Christmas,” Stiles adds, and Derek’s smile is undeniable now.

It’s been a year, but kissing Derek still feels like coming home.

***

“You are definitely going to be the reason they get rid of the office Christmas party,” Danny sighs. Through the open door, Stiles can hear the holly jolly strains of Burl Ives.

Stiles can’t help Danny if he keeps traipsing through coat closets during parties. He doesn’t know what Danny was trying to find besides his coat and Stiles trying to get to second base with Derek.

“Get out,” Derek says, firm. Stiles pinches Derek’s butt through his pants as a token of appreciation.

Danny rolls his eyes, grabs his coat, and leaves.

Alone again, Stiles says, “This was totally your fault. I told you not to wear that sweater.”

Derek presses a kiss against Stiles lips, soft and sweet and chaste. “Does this count as ruining Christmas?”

“No.” Stiles laughs. “Not even close.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as an ode to my love of Christmas music, for which I am mostly unrepentant. Title (and plot) blatantly taken from "Last Christmas" by Wham!
> 
> Thank you, as always, to prettyasadiagram for the beta. You are a goddamn wizard.
> 
> Merry Christmas!


End file.
